heromuxfandomcom-20200216-history
2013.09.09 - It Will Be Dangerous
When the evening stretches on in Hammer Bay, it's difficult to tell the passing of time. The bustling port town sees activity at all hours of the day and night, and its citizens often aren't the domesticated types who bed down at sunfall and cook breakfast in the morning. It's easy to blend into the commotion that takes this dense favela at nightfall, even wearing the bright colors of traditional African garb. He's not the only one, after all, not by a long shot, especially with the island's close proximity to the African coast. But no, it isn't merely Kwabena's ability to blend in, nor his predilection for navigating 'bad neighborhoods' as it were. He's been here before, and he knows these streets. It wasn't far from here where Mystique found him, when he and Kurt first came to Genosha. Those were different times, and not too very long ago, at that. They were simpler times, when he served as an instructor at the Xavier Institute, a junior field member of the X-Men, and had finally found some resemblance of peace. Still, as he walks through the bending street, seemingly distracted by the pop-up street vendors, homeless beggars, hurried travelers and intoxicated socializers, his mind is on Alaska. Yes, Alaska. He's been there before, and it's starting to look like a good place for retirement. Yes, Alaska. A place where, perhaps, the name 'Odame' and the mistakes of his past would never find him. He is followed by the occasional, telltale clouds of smoke that puff up into the air with every drag of his cigarette. Rachel seems in no particular hurry as she navigates the crowded streets, but she's not exactly strolling, and doesn't stop to investigate even the more savory-looking street vendors. The hat she wore when the sun was up has been stuffed into the leather backpack that's slung over one shoulder, perhaps explaining its earlier rather battered appearance, while her sunglasses have been hooked to the front of her shirt. One hand holds the strap of the backpack possessively, but it's her telekinesis that's assuring that no-one's tampering with it. She's got too much on her mind to have to worry about would-be bag snatchers right now. Nate's desire to take immediate action, even temporarily quenched by Jean's intervention, still makes her uneasy. But that's not the thing that's causing her most worry. No, that'd be the other matter that she sensed on Kwabena's mind during the telepathic 'conference call' that the four of them shared, and that's what's prompted her to make catching up with him a priority. Ducking out of the way of a knot of young men who're clearly celebrating /something/, and who clearly started drinking /very/ early, Rachel privately notes that if nothing else, this is good practice. Shielding herself from this many minds around her, whilst tracking a specific individual. And hoping to keep that specific individual from picking up on her presence before she wants him to. Reaching out ahead, she picks up Kwabena's mind easily enough, though the flash of what's on his mind surprises her. Still, she's impatient, and picks up her pace to catch up with him. Falling in beside him, she waves her free hand in front of her face as she gets a lungful of his smoke. "Ugh. I should've waited until you'd finished that." Still perched upon Kwabena's head is the damask hat of orange and purple, for it was as decorative as it was useful, and a critical part of the traditional African garb. He is surprised when Rachel comes up alongside of him, but it's most visible in the very brief glare he shoots her way. Otherwise, he's gotten damned good at hiding surprise from his physical gestures. "Uhf," he verbalizes, and quickly snatches the cigarette to the other side of his body. "I know is not mah most favahrable habit," he fires back, with a quickened pace that pays much less attention to suppressing his natural accent. "But is bettah din oddah tings I might do, hmm?" It might make Kwabena a touch more difficult to understand, but, again. What have we said about blending in? The cigarette is tossed to the ground and stepped upon as they walk, and Kwabena forces a smirk to his face that is paired with hearty laughter. "Ey, if it is not de cancah dat kills me, din it'll be someting else!" With the boisterous demeanor as a shield of sorts, Kwabena sneaks a look Rachel's way with brows knitted, showing his concern. No longer thinking about Alaska (or how unnervingly cold it is), his mind is now squarely split between the GBS news broadcast, and what implications it might have on their operations right here in Hammer Bay. When Kwabena glares at Rachel, he'll find her eyes looking at a spot a couple of inches above his, and her face wearing an appraising expression. Her eyes drop to meet his when she notices him looking her way, and her only response to his glare is to raise her eyebrows a bit. She doesn't /like/ breathing in cigarette smoke, but he's taken her words far more to heart than she'd intended. Or maybe he just doesn't like being snuck up on. Rachel decides not to comment as the cigarette is crushed out. The hearty laugh, though, that makes her brows rise a bit more, before she puts on a grin as if she's sharing in the good humour he's trying to project. "Have to go one way or the other!" She agrees with seeming cheerfulness, but she can't miss his look of concern - or, this close, the echo of it from his mind, even if she's not actively snooping. "So what's most likely to get you today?" She asks in a light, almost teasing tone, which is very much an act. Her voice, when it sounds in his mind, is much more serious. |We should talk. D'you want to find somewhere private, or...?| She's well aware that he's less than comfortable with her in his brain, most of the time. It's true. Being snuck up on is not exactly Kwabena's favorite exercise, and he lacks Logan's nose. He also used to be far more comfortable with telepathic activity than he is now, but... well. Jean's tweaking of his memories, paired with a general paranoia of being spotted by one of Magneto's telepaths has him feeling a bit less warm to the subject. Playing along outwardly, he leans toward Rachel just so and answers dubiously, "An act of God." He gestures upward with his eyes first, before motioning toward the darkening sky with his hand. "No, really. We'd bettah find a dry place quickly!" A flash of distant lightning splashes blue color across the facade, drawing others' eyes toward the approaching storm as the wind begins to pick up. |"I know just the place,"| answers, before reaching out to grasp Rachel's arm. "Come on!" he urges, before pulling her down a side street. With a free hand he reaches to secure the hat on his head, ignoring how the dashaki that adorns his upper body is flapping about in the wind. One turn left, two turns right, and a shimmy past some men who are hurriedly trying to cover up a truck full of bread, before Kwabena is knocking on the wooden door that serves as rear entrance to a stone structure. Words in an African language similar to Dangme are exchanged with a man inside, before the door creaks open, permitting the two entrance. Rachel's still very much the tourist when it comes to Genosha and the vagaries of its weather. That's why Kwabena gets a skeptical look for his 'Act of God' comment and what she sees as his accompanying theatrics. "Really?" She just gets time to ask, before she's been grabbed and is being dragged away. For a moment she looks completely startled as she stumbles along after him, but then she just shakes her head and laughs. Unlike her earlier teasing, the laughter is real, an honest reaction, and she hurries along to keep up with him. The abrupt changes of direction nearly throw Rachel off, and if there had been a few more twists and turns she'd probably have been hopelessly lost. She doesn't really mind, and she's still sporting a bit of a grin when they finally reach wherever it is Kwabena's taking them. Although, as he talks to the man who answers the door, Rachel finds herself looking toward the sky, wondering if she's going to get wet before they're allowed inside, as the rising wind tugs at her clothes, making her long skirt swirl around her legs a bit. A moment later, though, and she's inside. And glancing sidelong at Kwabena, a guarded smirk on her lips. "If I didn't know better, I'd say I'd just been kidnapped." She tells him, the smirk becoming a bit more pronounced. "Or is that what you told the guy at the door?" She's keeping things light for the moment, though her eyes don't quite match her words, still thoughtful as they watch him. Little could Rachel know that this place is one of the safehouses Kwabena has established. It belongs to his resistance cell, and bringing Rachel here is a near-shattering of the operation's cardinal rule. Fortunately, a little code word spoken in a foreign language is all the doorkeep needed, and by the time Rachel and Kwabena are inside, the man is nowhere to be seen. He's never laid eyes upon Rachel, and she's never laid eyes upon him. The doorway has led them into a storage closet, filled with foodstuffs, spices, bottles of liquor and other such items. It's a sizeable affair, suggesting that the restaurant it services must be larger than the average dives found across Hammer Bay. From a hallway that bends around the corner, the sound of a muted door can be heard closing, which also blocks out the sound of a sizzling kitchen. "Keep your voice down," answers Kwabena, his mis-matched eyes locked upon that hallway for a few moments, as if waiting to see some other signal that they are in the clear. "I told him I kidnapped one of Caesar's jesters," he answers, finally turning back toward Rachel when a single wall lamp comes to life in the hallway. The signal Kwabena was looking for that its clear to talk. He's got a smirk of his own, now. "A little code, really. Means I am interrogating one of Magneto's operatives, which is altogedah a great way to make sure dey leave us well enough alone." Beat. "Wait a moment, are you having fun, Red?" he asks, cocking his head. "On a dangerous mission?" A mock look of scolding is flashed Rachel's way, and Kwabena can barely keep the corners of his lips from turning upward. Those words, however, are followed by a clap of thunder, much closer than the last, and the trickling sound of rainfall outside. It's a reminder that, while running through the alleyways to escape the coming storm was fun, there was business to attend to. Kwabena's expression further dissipates, replaced by the dutiful look that has been plastered across his dark skin far too often recently. "I take it you saw de news," he murmurs. "Or at least read about it from my mind?" Rachel tilts her head questioningly at Kwabena's command, but she does keep silent. As he watches the hallway, she looks quickly around the room he's brought her to. The lack of other exits is not entirely reassuring, but she trusts that he knows what he's doing. She takes another step into the space so that she's not crowding him, but touches nothing. When he speaks again, though, her curiosity only increases, but she holds her tongue until Kwabena seems satisfied that it's safe. His explanation, though? First that makes her eyes widen a bit in surprise, and then her lips curve in a wry smile. She was joking, and it turned out to be a good guess. And she's not even a precog. She's about to make a comment when Kwabena decides to reprove her. Not that she can't see him smiling. "I might've been." She allows, before folding her arms and shooting him a look of mock-reproof. Two can play that game, after all. "Before I found out I really HAD been kidnapped." She nods toward the door. "Better let me know if I need to act the part, too." She's still got the hint of a smile on her face as she says that. The thunder, though, doesn't just sober Kwabena. Rachel sobers, and shakes her head. "I didn't see the news, and you give me too much credit. Or you think I 'listen in' more than I do." She looks around restlessly, as if she'd pace - but there's not the room. "I caught flashes. Numbers. Your name. A place. You... shooting up." She's not going to hide what she picked up from his mind. "That's all the background I got. But you think someone's trying to get your attention." She pauses then, looks at him, and then shrugs. "Which they have. So are we taking the bait?" It's a blunt question, but talking around the situation isn't going to help anyone. With a mock scoff, Kwabena makes a dismissing gesture regarding such concerns. No need to act, it seems. The African feels confident that this place is as secure as they come. Sadly, the time for fun seems to have blown away, like the clear evening outside. "I honestly do not undahstand how it works," he answers, regarding the telepathy. A finger touches his temple to accentuate that this is what he's speaking of. He notices the way she looks around, seeming restless, but there may not be time or space to reassure her. She's just going to have to trust him that this place is, in fact, safe. A touch of restlessness comes over Kwabena then, when Rachel exposes what in fact leaked. The flashes that she saw. The last phrase, in fact, seems to cause his jaw to tighten. She's hit upon that one nerve, the thing that influences him to keep his friends at arms length. His former addiction is a thorn in his side, a touch of shame, that he may carry with him forever, even if those days have long past. He's not going to assure her that those days are over. If she wants to know... he trusts that she will ask. "It's more dan dat," he answers soberly. "I don't know who is reponsahble for dis, and I don't know how those places and victims are connected. But someone has found a way to get a message to me." A certain tone, stalwart with undertones of angst, seeps into his words. "Dose numbahs belong to an address. A dope-house. Place addicts to go get high togedah in safety. Nobody knows about it, except for those who were dere." He lets that breathe for a moment, taking the time provided by open space to settle himself. Oh, how he hates that Rachel knows about this secret. Swallowing his shame, he finally answers the blunt end of her question. "It could be a trap. Magneto is searching for me. He knows my past, and he has resources." Follow that one through to its natural conclusion, and it's a fifty-fifty toss up. Rachel wouldn't be much of a telepath if she didn't pick up on Kwabena's reaction to that particular aspect of what she saw in his mind. The tightening of his jaw is only the physical echo of the defensive reaction from his mind. She feels a little bit guilty that one of her first thoughts is that she could work with that reaction, build on it, maybe help the non-telepath in their little group develop some rudimentary mental shielding techniques. The guilt comes because what she's learned, however unintentionally, causes him pain. For her... she's done far, far worse than inject herself with dubious substances. And considering how much she's been touching his mind lately, even lightly, just to provide communication, it'd still be flat out impossible to hide it from her if he were high as a kite, or suffering from withdrawal. She's detected neither, so she knows he's clean. For her, it's close to being a non-issue. It's perhaps a pity that she's not really equipped to reassure him of that fact. Rachel listens as Kwabena speaks, not interrupting, knowing enough to wait until he's finished, even though she's starting to draw some conclusions early on. Finally, she gives a slow nod. "It's a trap." Rachel's opinion is quite clear. "There has to be a less bloody way to get your attention, if someone just wanted to talk to you. I just don't know that I buy Magneto being behind it all." She raises a hand to run it through her hair, mussing it slightly. It's an unconscious gesture as she thinks. "Someone who knew you, back then." Her eyes flicker to his again. "Or someone who's got to someone who knew you back then." She sighs. "Either way, it's a problem. It's too dangerous to ignore, and you have to figure that whoever wants you is going to be ready for you." Rachel grimaces a bit. "If we weren't out here, and we weren't responsible for the others..." Don't late Nate hear THAT one. "Then I'd say spring the trap, and I'd be there to pull the building down around whoever showed." Oddly she doesn't seem to be asking permission for that one, just assuming that it'd be granted. She narrows her eyes a bit in thought. "You're not going to want Nate backing you up." She can't imagine he wants to tell anyone else this story, any more than he wanted to tell her. "You could send me." She offers simply, and waits for his reply. Considering Rachel's denial of Magneto's involvement, Kwabena turns slightly away, studying the collection of foodstuffs, paying particular attention to the bottles of wine. He reaches out with a hand to touch one of the large labels on the bottle, running a fingernail between the glass and the label in a thoughtful way. "You're right," he answers, "Magneto would be far more subtle dan dat, and if he's got dat Gotham detective John Carmichal still working de case, I can almost guarantee you it's not his style, eithah." He looks back to Rachel as she draws a few possible conclusions verbally, following along the train of thought as it presents itself with a nod here and a quiet 'hmm' there. "It is a problem," he agrees. For one thing, Kwabena absolutely abhors having his name out there, blasted across the airwaves globally. He'd worked so diligently to protect it, keep it where it belonged, using it as a tool to gain intelligence from the criminal community when the X-Men demanded it. He'd never intended it to have such broad-reaching repercussions, and he can't possibly imagine what his friends around the globe are thinking, given his recent involvement with the Brotherhood of Mutants. Eyes briefly widen with stalwart agreement when she warns him not to involve Nate. Reaching back to scratch the back of his neck, he produces a long sigh while considering the objectives. "Only when our cells are self sufficient," he decides. "Yours, mine, Channel's. Only den should we address dis. But yeah, it's gonna need to be addressed." He takes another moment to consider possible options. "I can become damned near invisible at nightfall," he says, speaking of his ability to turn to gas and thin his body to the point of blending in with any shadow or evening sky. "And I doubt anyone has put togedah de reason behind dose numbahs. Druggies don't talk about dere dope-houses for a reason." There's got to be at least fifty addresses in the five boroughs alone that would match those numbers. Looking directly at Rachel then, Kwabena reaches out with only a touch of hesitation to put a hand against her arm. "It'll be dangerous," he says, knowing he doesn't even need to bring it up. But, there's a part of him that had begun to respect her, care about her, beyond the silly flirting he's thrown her way. The offer made, Rachel looks unconvinced when Kwabena suggests they wait. Maybe there's a bit of whatever drives Nate toward action lurking in her genetic make-up as well. "Are you sure we can wait that long?" She asks him frankly. "This is a distraction you don't need." Despite the rather flat way she points that out, there's a touch of lightness in her eyes as she continues, "Particularly when you're trying to match Magneto move for move." See, she can make allusions to chess from time to time, too. "It plays into his hands, whether he's aware of it or not." Rachel shifts her weight to one hip and folds her arms again, trying to push back the restless urge to do something about the problem now. She's particularly bothered that Kwabena's reaction to learning about this was to find some whiskey. They need him sharp, neither distracted nor inebriated. Still, Rachel doesn't push the point any further, since Kwabena's moved onto the how rather than the when. She nods when he mentions his abilities, but she's clearly not wholly reassured. "And the people who'd know about this address, and know about you? Do they know what you can do?" That's central to the problem, as far as Rachel's concerned, and why she feels they need someone along whose abilities /won't/ be expected. Rachel's still turning the problem over in her mind, and is a little distracted when Kwabena reaches out for her arm. But she doesn't jump or pull away from him. Instead, she smiles. "I know. But it's OK. So am I." As she says that, just for a moment as she meets his gaze, the green of her eyes is blotted out by flame. There is a brief flash of something in Kwabena's eyes, mis-matched as they are. It's the appreciation of her inner fire, something he shares at least in part. "I can ignore distractions," he points out. "And I don't need whiskey to do it," he adds, remembering what she'd warned him about earlier in the day. She might not realize yet that when he was inspecting those bottles of wine, it was not related to the liquid contained within them. Removing his arm, he draws a breath and adopts a stance that is more one of finality, as if they have come to a mutual decision, even if one has not yet been spoken of. "They don't know what I can do," he admits. "Some of dere suppliers?" A nice way of referencing drug dealers. "Yes. Howevah, from what I undahstand, I don't think there's any of them left alive. Can you have your cell prepared to be fully self-sufficient within twenty four hours?" he asks. Rachel didn't say a word about the whiskey, Kwabena's no telepath, and she's too good a one to have projected that worry. Which means he's still stung about the suggestion she made earlier. Good. The fact that it's still on his mind means she believes him when he says he doesn't need it. Hopefully they're both right. "Good." She says, though she makes her tone contrastingly light. "Makes it hard to keep secrets from all the telepaths in your head these days." It's a warning, but a friendly one. He's not comfortable with what she's seen, how much less comfortable would he be with Nate or Hope picking up on it? As he lets go of her arm, Rachel recognizes that the moment is over, and adjusts her own tone to something more businesslike. "That's good..." She begins, then stops when he qualifies that assurance. Better to plan for the worst, she decides privately. There's no time to question him, though, because he's already shifted topics again. Rachel's caught a little off-guard by it. "What?" She says, but rallies quickly. She'd been expecting more lead time, after he'd made clear this wasn't a problem to be addressed immediately. "I... yes. I can. I'll have to give them a push a little earlier than I'd planned, and a couple of them are pretty green, but they won't come apart." Mentally, she crosses her fingers. It's all getting very real, and she might very well be exposing the people she'd recruited to actual danger. But she's got the reassurance at least that she knows this is what they want. Dipping into their minds showed her that much, ethically questionable or not. She shakes off that train of thought before she can second guess herself. "Guess I'd better get to it." She says with a shrug, not relishing the idea of going out in the storm, but a smile still finding its way onto her lips as she adds, "Do you need to march me back out of here?" Well, Kwabena Odame's first command operation is likely to have its rough spots. "I'll keep that in mind," he answers, and with no shortage of irony in his tone. From what he can tell, the best defense against a telepath is just the opposite--keeping thoughts out of one's mind. Noticing that she's caught off guard, he feels a bit responsible to explain the sudden change of pace. "You reminded me of something, Rachel, when you mentioned trying match Magneto move for move." There is a brief pause as he considers how to explain it. "When I came into this, I realized dat we'd have to think on our feet. Be willing to change with de winds. As much as I'd prefer for dis operation to go down perfectly, dere is sometimes value in being a little rough around de edges." His eyebrows shoot upward in a conspiratorial fashion. "If we push dem hardah den dey are expecting, dey'll be so much more cautious. And if some few things leak out?" He shrugs. "It might do us some benefit for de Imperator to realize dat people are mobilizing to resist him. It might prompt him to show his hand." A smirk forms on his face, for he recognizes the risks they are taking, but they are potentially good risks. Oh, it's not lost on him that they'll be exposing people to danger, perhaps earlier than they would have liked, but the people have been equipped, which is a far cry from where any of them were before the X-Men snuck into Hammer Bay. An absolutely mischievous look takes the place of that smirk, and he leans closer in order to whisper his answer. "Try not to have too much fun." With that, he grasps her by the shoulder, lightly of course, and walks toward the door. Opening it reveals an absolutely terrible downpour, but if it's any consolation, she won't be the only one getting soaked. "Go on," he demands in a gruff voice, and gives her a hearty shove out into the rain. "Get out of here!" He walks out right behind her too, letting the rain flatten his hat and commence with the prompt soaking of his clothes. "We evah catch you stealing again, it'll be your ass!" he calls after her, arms folded as he walks out to seemingly make damned sure she never comes down this alleyway again. Category:Log